


Blue Skies Fade to Grey

by asexualjuliet



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Anxiety, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve Harrington and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day, The working title for this was “Steve Harrington Deserves the Goddamn World Ok”, Will Byers is a sweetheart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 03:55:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21229382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexualjuliet/pseuds/asexualjuliet
Summary: When Steve Harrington wakes up in a cold sweat at four am, he knows it’s gonna be a rough day.The nightmares haven’t stopped since the fall of ‘83, and the experience of leading four kids through monster-infested tunnels has done nothing for the panic that clutches at him in sleep.Or, to quote me: “It’s like half ‘Steve has ptsd’ and half ‘Steve probably has head trauma from when Billy beat the crap out of him’ and full ‘let’s make Steve suffer’”





	Blue Skies Fade to Grey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [broadway_hufflepuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/broadway_hufflepuff/gifts).

> Thank you and sorry to broadway_hufflepuff, who asked me to write this a week ago and then I,,,, didn’t.  
She asked for “Steve breaking down and Jonathan helping him,” and tbh, Mary, sorry my dumbass brain couldn’t think of a plot for like a week.  
Anyway, hope you enjoy!  
Title from Bad Day by Daniel Powter

When Steve Harrington wakes up in a cold sweat at four am, he knows it’s gonna be a rough day. 

The nightmares haven’t stopped since the fall of ‘83, and the experience of leading four kids through monster-infested tunnels has done nothing for the panic that clutches at him in sleep. 

It’s still dark out, but there’s no way in hell Steve’s going back to sleep, so he pulls himself out of bed and goes to raid the cabinets for something resembling an acceptable breakfast. 

After looking through every goddamn kitchen cabinet and remembering that he hasn’t gone shopping in weeks, Steve settles for Eggo waffles and opens the freezer. 

It smells like rotting food and Steve is suddenly struck by the memory of a monster in another freezer, the smell making his eyes water as he slams the door. 

Okay. No breakfast it is. 

By the time Steve gets dressed, takes a shower, and convinces himself that there’s not a monster in his freezer, it’s 6:30, and he’s gotta leave early to drive Dustin to school. 

He sighs and drags himself to his car, not bothering to turn on the radio and heading to Dustin’s house. 

Claudia greets him at the door, all smiles and _ do you want some breakfast? I made pancakes! Dusty, Steve’s here! _

Steve declines her offer and Dustin comes running downstairs, almost hitting his face on the banister upon his sharp curve into the kitchen, but colliding with Steve instead. 

“Hey, kid,” Steve smiles and ruffles Dustin’s hair. Dustin gives a toothless smile in return. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”

The kid follows him out the door and calls “shotgun!” as soon as he’s outside. 

“You don’t need to call shotgun when you’re the only one here, dumbass,” Steve points out. 

“I’m _ practicing, _” Dustin sighs. “Max always gets shotgun.”

Steve can’t deny that. Despite being thirteen, Max is kind of a badass. 

Upon entering the car, Dustin turns on the radio and pumps up the volume. Steve winces at the pain in his head. 

(Turns out that if you get the crap beat out of you, you’re supposed to go to the hospital instead of letting four children patch you up).

“Turn it down, dipshit,” Steve says, slapping Dustin’s hand away from the controls. 

“Are you okay?” Dustin asks after a second. 

“What?”

“You look tired. And, like, sorta sick. You’re really pale.”

Steve rubs a hand over his face. “I’m fine.”

Dustin doesn’t look like he buys it, and he’s right, the tight, anxious feeling in Steve’s chest isn’t disappearing as the morning goes on, but he says nothing as Steve pulls into the middle school parking lot. 

“Thanks, Steve!” He calls as he runs towards his friends. 

Steve sighs as pain flares in his head. This is gonna be one long-ass day. 

-

Steve sleeps through first-period math, and it’s only when Jonathan Byers nudges him in the shoulder that he wakes up. 

“Are you okay?” 

Steve groans and looks up. Jonathan’s the only one left in the room. He guesses the bell rang a few minutes ago. 

“‘M fine,” he mumbles, which is bullshit, but it’s better than the truth. 

“Are you sure?” Jonathan asks. 

Steve says nothing as he walks out. 

-

Third-period gym already has Steve ready to kill himself, and his undiagnosed concussion isn’t doing him any favors. 

Also, they’re playing baseball, which Steve totally sucks at. So that only adds to the shitty day he’s having. 

Billy Hargrove is pitching as Steve steps up to the plate. He glares at Steve and Steve glares back. 

He grips the bat in his hands and his stomach drops. 

_ A monster climbs out of the ceiling. It opens its mouth and roars. Steve swings— _

“Strike one!”

“Fuck,” Steve mumbles, ignoring the uneasy feeling building in his stomach. 

Billy throws another ball. Steve closes his eyes and swings, this time making contact. 

_ He can feel the spikes of the bat dig in to the monster’s flesh. The monster jumps— _

“Strike two!”

Steve sighs, getting ready for the third ball. 

_ He holds his bat in a battle stance. Takes a deep breath and swings— _

And gets hit square in the chest by a baseball. 

“Fuck!” He gasps, crumpling to the ground. The pain in his head has returned like the little bitch it is, and Billy Hargrove is smiling that stupid goddamn smile of his. 

Also, Steve can barely breathe, and he feels like he’s about to throw up, so that’s fun. 

Someone helps him up, gives him a shoulder to lean on. The room is spinning and Steve can’t tell who it is. The someone sits him down on the bleachers and says “Dude, what the hell?”

Steve groans, because he _ so _does not have the time for Tommy right now. 

“I know you suck at baseball, but you don’t suck that bad.”

Steve meets Tommy’s eyes and glares. 

“I’m worried about you, dude,” he says, lowering his voice. “I know we don’t talk anymore, but you’re freaking me out.”

“I’m fine,” Steve insists, despite the fact that he’s so incredibly not. “Go beat Billy’s ass at baseball.”

Tommy goes, leaving Steve alone with a pounding head, aching ribs and a mind filled with worry. 

-

The rest of school sucks, and it’s only when Jonathan Byers catches him by his car at the end of the day that he remembers he’s supposed to babysit Little Byers. 

“Yeah, yeah, I can still do it,” he assures Jonathan, despite the abnormally shitty day he’s having. 

“Thanks,” says Jonathan, and Steve gets into his car and heads to the middle school. 

Dustin and Will are waiting when he gets there, and Dustin calls shotgun the second he pulls in. Steve rolls his eyes. 

“You both going to the same place or no?” He asks, pulling out of the parking lot. 

“Nah,” Dustin says. “Mom wants to go to the shelter and find a new cat today.”

Steve winces. “Sorry, dude.”

Dustin shrugs. “It’s okay,” he says, turning up the radio. 

“Turn it the fuck down, Dustin,” Steve says immediately, because even after a month, his head’s still intent on murdering him at the slightest change in volume. 

“Come on, Steve!”

“Turn it _ down, _ Dustin!” He shouts, pulling into the kid’s driveway. 

Dustin flinches and turns the volume knob. “Sorry.”

Steve winces “Shit, kid, sorry. I—”

“It’s okay,” Dustin says, climbing out of the car. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve nods, and Dustin turns to his house. 

“Oh, son of a bitch, Mom put up the lights without me?” Dustin says, running toward the house. “Goddammit.” 

Steve looks at the trees in the front yard, and hundreds of colorful Christmas lights stare back at him. 

_ Shit. _

Steve barely made it through last Christmas with all the goddamn lights everywhere, and now it’s back again. They make him feel vaguely nauseous, a reminder of all the shit that went down last year, and—

“Steve?” Will’s voice jolts him back to reality. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“It’s okay,” Will says softly. “Mom and Jonathan don’t like the lights either.”

Steve nods and backs out of the driveway, looking at anything but Mrs. Henderson’s Christmas lights. 

-

He’s been at the dining room table for thirty minutes when his head starts aching. “Shit,” he murmurs, and Will looks up from his drawing. 

“Are you okay?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“I know better than anyone what someone who’s not fine looks like,” the kid says quietly. When Steve doesn’t respond, he asks, “What’s wrong?”

Steve sighs, because Will raises a damn good point. 

“It’s just my head, kid, I’m okay.”

Steve doesn’t mention that his head is currently attempting to destroy him from the inside out, but the look on his face must give it away because Will says “Go lie down.”

Steve protests, “Kid, I’m the babysitter, I need to—”

“You need to rest,” Will insists, pushing Steve toward the couch in the living room. “I can take care of myself. Which is something I can’t quite say about you.”

“Damn,” Steve mumbles, falling back onto the couch, because now that Will says it, Steve’s tired as hell. 

Will lays a blanket over Steve. “Feel better,” he says, and Steve’s eyelids start to droop. 

He’s out before Will even leaves the room. 

-

In hindsight, Steve should have remembered that he hasn’t gotten a solid night of sleep since ‘83, and he also should have remembered why. 

The nightmares never fail to find him in sleep, and it’s been a long time since he woke up in anything less than absolute terror, so it’s no surprise when he wakes up with a pounding head and a racing heart. 

What _ is _a surprise is the hand on his shoulder, which makes him flinch, and the “oh, shit” that follows. 

Steve’s gonna die. He's gonna die, and Jonathan Byers of all people is kneeling on the floor in front of him. 

“Steve,” he says, sounding far away. “Steve, can you hear me?”

Steve nods, choking back tears. 

“Hey, you’re okay,” Jonathan says, softer than Steve’s ever heard him before. “You’re okay, just—just breathe, okay? Just breathe.”

Steve is trying, he’s trying _ so damn hard, _but he still can’t fucking breathe. 

Jonathan’s next to him, he reaches out for Steve but stops himself, which just makes tears prick at Steve’s eyes. 

“You’re okay,” he says. “It was just a dream, I promise.”

They stay that way, Jonathan kneeling at his side mumbling _you’re okay_s and _just breathe_s until Steve’s panic fades and he mumbles a “thank you.”

“Are you okay?” Jonathan asks gently, sitting down on the couch next to Steve. 

And Steve fucking loses it. 

Everything catches up to him, everything he’s been holding back for the last month and a half, and he just fucking sobs, cries so hard he can barely breathe, so hard that he’s shaking, so hard that he’s sure Jonathan’s looking at him like he’s insane—

But then he feels an arm around his shoulder, another wrapping him in a hug and rubbing his back as sobs wrack his body, and it’s the first time Steve’s been hugged in a really long time, so he kind of wishes he wasn’t ruining it by crying so hard. 

He can’t stop though, he keeps crying, so hard he starts to feel vaguely sick, but Jonathan’s there, holding him tight and mumbling in his ear. “Shh, I got you,” he whispers, “You’re okay. You’re okay, I got you, it’s gonna be okay.”

Steve doesn’t notice himself balling up Jonathan’s sweater in his hands until he’s got no more tears left to shed, until he’s just trembling in Jonathan’s arms and the sweater is drenched with tears. 

“Sorry,” Steve says, letting go of Jonathan and wiping his eyes. 

“It’s okay, Steve,” Jonathan says in that soft voice. His brown eyes are big and sincere, and he doesn’t let go of Steve until Will walks into the living room with a glass of water. 

“Here,” he says quietly, handing the glass to Steve. “I hope you feel better.”

Steve gives a sort of smile and takes the glass with shaky hands, letting the cold water slide past the lump in his throat. 

“Sorry,” he says again, to both boys this time, but Will shakes his head. 

“Let us take care of you,” he says, sitting on Steve’s other side and wrapping an arm around him. 

Jonathan smiles. “You’re stuck with us, Harrington,” he says, nudging Steve with his elbow. 

Steve smiles. He sure is. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> All mistakes are my own, please let me know if you see any!
> 
> Kudos/Comments are greatly appreciated!


End file.
